I've been thinking a lot about my kids lately. No, this is not a confession-blog about a hoard of illegitimate little Ho's running around Indianapolis (wipe that stupidly relieved look off of your face - yeah, you). The kids that could be. It all comes back to one question:
Do you have any idea how screwed up my kids are going to be? (that's rhetorical; if you feel obligated to answer, my response to your response is right here)
Their father is not exactly antisocial, but he definitely holds some ideas that run contrary to your mainstream philosophies of life. So my poor little Darran and/or Emily (or however many others end up running around my house) will have two conflicting images of life from the day they first set foot in school. They will probably develop intellectually on a different level than children of their age as well, since I plan on doing as much preschooling as I can at home.
I've often wondered if I'll ever have a sacred room to myself - a room decorated and filled with everything that makes a room mine, probably from the time that Tim finally got kicked out of the crib and into my room. There's always been some sort of compromise: first, between myself and my parents; then, between myself, my parents, and Tim; and now, between myself, my roommate, and the Marian College Housing Rules and Regulations people. I don't see an end in sight anytime soon either, although I plan on getting a single room next year. In three or four years I could be dealing with the aesthetic wishes of my bloody wife (I feel a confrontation brewing there already). When it comes to MY room, I'll tell her directly where she can stick her assthetic, er, aesthetic wishes.
My "study" or "library" is going to be rocking to Oasis and the rest of my band-buddies every waking hour of my life. While my music is clean for the most part, every band at one point or another drops a few words that young children (according to society; yet another blog for that one) shouldn't hear (even Hootie couldn't resist throwing in a reference to women of ill-repute in the latest HatB CD). Am I going to stop listening to all of my music? Hell no. Am I going to keep the kids out of audio range of my room? Not possible. Am I going to let them run around quoting Cake, hoping that their mother or teachers don't hear them? That's just asking for trouble. I'm only on my first fundamental and already I have a compromise - I'll havta keep it down.
I'm not worried about my books in the least. They will learn to take care of my books like they can't possibly afford to replace them. And, in many cases, they can't anyways.
I can hear people now, indignant expressions on their faces, clamoring about my selfishness or some other such crap. Let me assure you that the option of not having a wife or children is still open. Or, should I marry, call me back when you're a parent with your self-righteous, world-loving bitching and we can talk on a slightly more learned ground. Feel free to comment now if you'd like, but be warned that I may have little patience with you.
And, as always, have a wonderful day.
Do you have any idea how screwed up my kids are going to be? (that's rhetorical; if you feel obligated to answer, my response to your response is right here)
Their father is not exactly antisocial, but he definitely holds some ideas that run contrary to your mainstream philosophies of life. So my poor little Darran and/or Emily (or however many others end up running around my house) will have two conflicting images of life from the day they first set foot in school. They will probably develop intellectually on a different level than children of their age as well, since I plan on doing as much preschooling as I can at home.
I've often wondered if I'll ever have a sacred room to myself - a room decorated and filled with everything that makes a room mine, probably from the time that Tim finally got kicked out of the crib and into my room. There's always been some sort of compromise: first, between myself and my parents; then, between myself, my parents, and Tim; and now, between myself, my roommate, and the Marian College Housing Rules and Regulations people. I don't see an end in sight anytime soon either, although I plan on getting a single room next year. In three or four years I could be dealing with the aesthetic wishes of my bloody wife (I feel a confrontation brewing there already). When it comes to MY room, I'll tell her directly where she can stick her assthetic, er, aesthetic wishes.
My "study" or "library" is going to be rocking to Oasis and the rest of my band-buddies every waking hour of my life. While my music is clean for the most part, every band at one point or another drops a few words that young children (according to society; yet another blog for that one) shouldn't hear (even Hootie couldn't resist throwing in a reference to women of ill-repute in the latest HatB CD). Am I going to stop listening to all of my music? Hell no. Am I going to keep the kids out of audio range of my room? Not possible. Am I going to let them run around quoting Cake, hoping that their mother or teachers don't hear them? That's just asking for trouble. I'm only on my first fundamental and already I have a compromise - I'll havta keep it down.
I'm not worried about my books in the least. They will learn to take care of my books like they can't possibly afford to replace them. And, in many cases, they can't anyways.
I can hear people now, indignant expressions on their faces, clamoring about my selfishness or some other such crap. Let me assure you that the option of not having a wife or children is still open. Or, should I marry, call me back when you're a parent with your self-righteous, world-loving bitching and we can talk on a slightly more learned ground. Feel free to comment now if you'd like, but be warned that I may have little patience with you.
And, as always, have a wonderful day.
Comments